A Flower Crown
by ceryss
Summary: "To say Sandor found his position boring was a colossal understatement. To be charged the safety of the most well-behaved, proper little princess was without a doubt the most uneventful schedule he had ever encountered in his life." Sandor is the sworn shield of a six year old Sansa. Two-shot? Maybe more?
1. Chapter 1

To say Sandor found his position boring was a colossal understatement. To be charged of the safety most well-behaved, proper little princess was without a doubt the most uneventful schedule he had ever encountered in his life. He followed the tiny, six year old wherever she went - and where she went did not consist of a wide variety. Sandor accompanied her to her sewing lessons. He stood watch while she was fawned over by the ladies of the court. He guarded her day after day while she chased her wolf puppy around in circles until she fell down giggling.

Oh, what an exciting life he led.

The little princess's father, King Eddard Stark, had charged him with the responsibility of her wellbeing on the day of her birth, when Sandor himself was only four and ten. It was true that he already towered over his peers, and was so far unmatched with a blade, but to be offered the position of a Royal Guard so young was unheard of. So of course, realizing the prestigious and unprecedented offering, Sandor accepted immediately, not quite realizing what exactly the job would entail.

What it entailed was a bloody heap of nothing.

Yet he accepted, and Queen Catelyn placed into his arms the tiny bundle, sleepy and sweet-smelling with fierce red Tully hair. He took his vows to protect her, the first vows he had ever agreed to utter, and smiled when she grabbed his nose with small fingers.

In the beginning, Sandor was off of duty most of his days. Babies do not have many places to go, and Sansa spent most of her time wrapped up in her mother's arms. He attended the family in public appearances, watching the crowd with a wary eye, and poking back anyone who got to close to his charge. As she grew however, his free time became less, and his boredom grew.

Though he still trained daily with the other men, a time he looked forward to immensely throughout the day, the majority of his hours were spent watching over the charming, red headed girl. While the others swapped war stories, or recounting duals in which they had bested their opponent, the only stories Sandor could recount was what Princess Sansa embroidered that morning.

To be sure, he did not feel angry toward the princess for these happenings. In fact, Sandor found himself to be rather fond of the little girl who looked him in the face always, and held his hand wherever they went. It was refreshing to be in the company of someone, even someone very small and unworldly, who had grown up with his scarred appearance. Little Sansa had never shown disgust, or pity, or horror when she gazed upon his monstrous face. Ever so polite, she only smiled and spoke kind words to him. He yearned for the chance to protect her, to prove that King Eddard was validated in his choice of guard, yet the only dangers that ailed the child were spiders and the occasional nightmare.

Sandor was made for more. But he kept his frustration to himself.

...

On a certain sunny summer day, the royal children were playing in the garden. Sandor sat watching from a bench under an old, gnarled tree as the young ones giggled and chased each other. Prince Robb was attended by the ward to the crown, Theon Greyjoy, and his half-brother, Jon Snow. The boys were all of a close age, and seemed inseparable. Sandor envied the guards of the boys. At least they had something to do! Sword training, archery, and whatever trouble the prince and his brothers got into that day were all far more exciting than the "proper" activities Sansa, and through her, Sandor, were forced to endure. If he saw one more stitch, he swore he would go mad.

Princess Sansa was in the garden as well, trying her very best to keep up with her older brothers. She was dressed in a light blue gown that Sandor knew she had helped make, and one she was very proud of. Her flaming hair had been tied up on to her head to help keep her cool in the summer heat. Sandor was sweating himself, boiling in armor that he did not need for enemies of the little girl that did not exist. The shade of the tree was cooler at least, and no one seemed to mind that he was seated instead of on vigilant watch.

"A tourney! We shall have a tourney!" Prince Robb declared, waving his arms excitedly. He picked up his wooden sword and swung it around in a wide arc. "And I will be the winner! Who's first?"

The Greyjoy boy answered his challenge with a delighted laugh and met Robb's sword with his own. The clatter of wood on wood was heard throughout the garden, accompanied by Sansa's cheering as the boys battled on. _They are getting better,_ Sandor thought with approval, observing the mock sword fight. The boys were growing into fine young men, if the master-at-arms was to be believed. That thought greeted Sandor with relief. An unruly and haughty prince was the last thing this kingdom needed. Robb would be a fine ruler, Sandor thought, and his little princess would be the perfect lady.

"You'll never win, Stark!" Theon shouted, in the midst of a dramatic and completely illogical forward roll on the ground to evade on of Robb's strike. _Well, maybe not that much better. _

Prince Robb struck a swift blow to Greyjoy's thigh, one that would've been crippling, had they had real swords. The ward howled in fake pain, and fell to one leg. "You've chopped off my leg! I yield, I yield!"

"Aha! My first victory!" The prince cried, grinning. "Who will challenge me next?" He turned to his brother, leaving Theon "dead" on the field of grass.

Sansa laughed wildly and ran to Theon, kneeling by his head where he laid, playing dead. The little girl placed her hands on the lanky boy's face and brushed back his light brown hair, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. "I healed you!" She proclaimed, and shrieked in delight when he grabbed her.

"Thank you princess Sansa," he said seriously, rising to his feet once more, and bowing low. _Oh, she'll love that,_ Sandor knew for a certainty. Sansa loved nothing more than being treated as the Lady she would be one day. Beaming, the princess bid him rise and told him he "fought very well."

Meanwhile, Prince Robb had taken up his next opponent with his bastard brother, and they were exchanging a fury of blows. The silliness that went with Theon's fight was gone, Jon and Robb now growling at each other. The two were in a constant struggle to best the other, seemingly in any sport they took a liking too. Who could shoot the farthest? Who had the best aim? Who was the fastest?

It never ended, and Sandor was accustomed to spying them chasing each other like wild dogs around the Red Keep. Once again, he wished he had been left in charge of the prince. Then at least he would be challenged.

The battling brothers had drawn a small crowd, ladies and sers alike, stopping to witness who would prevail. "Come on Jon," Ser Jory Cassel called. "Do you want him to lop of your arm? React faster!" The bastard boy frowned in response, but began to move quicker nonetheless. Sandor let his eyes flicker between the boys and Princess Sansa, making sure no one in the crowd was getting to close. She was still by Theon however, mesmerized by the sword fight, shouting encouragements to Robb.

"You can do it, Robby!" The little girl waved her arms above her head, causing Sandor's mouth to twitch into an unwilling smile. "Hit him! Get him!"

The crowd was shouting encouragements as well, egging on the two would-be knights to swing their swords even faster. Until, _crack!_ Jon's wooden sword split right down the middle, shattering into splinters and leaving the boy dead with Prince Robb's sword to his throat, a lofty grin on his face. The people around them clapped lightly and began to disperse, the show now over.

"No fair!" Jon argued, holding up his broken weapon. "Mine broke! You don't win!"

The prince laughed and shook his head. "_I _broke it! So therefore, I win!" Prince Robb held out his hand toward Jon in a show of sportsmanship and his brother shook it grudgingly. "You were a worthy opponent, brother."

Jon smiled. "I'll best you next time."

The heat was definitely getting to Sandor now, and he wanted nothing more than retreat inside, away from the glaring sun, yet the princess seemed unaffected by the warmth, no doubt due to her summer dress, whereas he was plated in steel. _Bloody hells, why did I ever agree to this? _He distracted himself by focusing on Sansa, who sat happily in the grass staring at her brother as though he were the Warrior himself. Her cheeks were red from excitement and her eyes as wide as the Dothraki Sea. Snorting, Sandor tried to remember if he had ever felt that way about his own brother. He doubted it.

"And now," Prince Robb said as dramatically as possible, swooping down to pluck a sunflower from one of the many garden patches. "I must name my Queen of Love and Beauty. I must choose the most beautiful girl in all of the Seven Kingdoms," he continued, grinning as his little sister practically bounced from where she was seated. "I must choose the one for whom I bear all of my love!"

Sansa was practically shaking with anticipation and Sandor was pleased to see she was not disappointed when her brother, with a sweeping gesture, placing the yellow flower behind her ear. If he had chosen another, Sandor was sure he would have spent the rest of the afternoon comforting a crying child. It was entirely better to see her so pleased.

Throwing her arms around the prince's neck, Sansa screeched and giggled madly. "I love you, Robby!"

Her brother laughed and returned the embrace. "And I you, little sister."

...

Some time later, during the time when the children were eating their lunch on a blanket their attendants had brought them, and Sandor was blessedly brought cool wine, Princess Sansa wandered her way over to her sworn shield. She approached him almost shyly, her red hair wispy around her face as it escaped her braids.

"Princess Sansa," he greeted. "Do you have need of me?"

She came even closer to where he was seated, until she was brushed against his knees, hands hidden behind her back. "Close your eyes, Sandor." When he hesitated, she pouted and whined, "Pleeeeaaaassseeee-"

He raised his hands in defeat, amused by the little girl who looked at him kindly. He shut his eyes reluctantly and sighed heavily. "Hold out your hands," she commanded, tugging on his wrist. Sandor opened his palms and felt something soft being placed inside. He waited for her command to look, and when it came, he appraised the object she had gifted to him.

It appeared Sansa had taken the sunflower Prince Robb gave to her and added more and more flowers to weave together into a small crown. It was a circlet of yellow petals, sweet and beautiful, just like herself. Sandor stared at it for a long time, trying to remember the last time anyone had gifted him anything. He couldn't recall anything.

"Do I look like a Queen of Love and Beauty to you, little bird?" He rasped, staring at her blue eyes which held carefree happiness.

She nodded happily, shifting back and forth on her feet, swaying to a song that only she could hear. "I think you are the most handsomest and bravest man in all of the land," she said to him seriously. "So you should have it!" If anyone else had said that to him, he would have ran a sword through them for the terrible jape. Yet he could see the blind honestly in his princess's eyes and knew she was telling was she thought was the truth.

An unbidden sense of pride trickled through him, and he cursed himself for folly. _A little girl thinks you brave for chasing away rats from her room. And bloody handsome, seven hells. _But still, Sandor was not a man used to praise, and could not help the warmth he felt from her words.

She seemed to sense his hesitation to accept the present so she continued, "Robb said you have to give the flower to who you love the most!"

Before Sandor could process her words, the little princess leaned in close and stretched up on her tiptoes to whisper in his good ear. "And I love you very very much."

Sandor watched, stunned, as she ran back to the other children lounging on the grass. He felt himself grinning stupidly as he regarded the small crown in his hands, but could not seem to tame it. A happiness bubbled inside of him, of the like that he had not felt in a very long time, and it was centered around a tiny princess of whom he had sworn his life to.

Maybe his job was not so bad after all.

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This really cute idea hit me and I couldn't help but write it. Please leave your thoughts, they are most welcome! :)

Gaahhh I'm suffering from cute overload. Damn you sansan you'll be the death of me.


	2. Lemon Cakes

"Sandor," a soft voice breathed down on him, and hair tickled his face. "Sandor, wake up."

The Royal Guard snapped opened his eyes at once, and grabbed at the hand that was resting on his bare arm. Blindly he reached for his sword, prepared to cut down the fool that thought to take him unawares in his sleep. But the wrist he had snatched was too small to be an assailant, and as his eyes adjusted to the almost pitch black hue of his chamber, Sandor noted that the assassin was far too tiny as well.

Princess Sansa squeaked at his rough treatment of her arm, so he loosened it slightly. "Little bird," he rasped, rubbing at his eyes and sitting up, hoping that it was too dark for the girl to see his state of undress. "What the bloody hells are you doing here? What's wrong? Did someone hurt you?" The princess had never snuck into his own rooms before, at least not in the dead of night. Even sitting on the bed, Sandor still loomed over the eight year old little lady. He could barely make out the bright red of her hair that now fell to her waist, and looking down, he noticed she was barefoot.

"Did you have a bad dream, Princess?" Sandor asked, squinting to see if there was any wetness on her cheeks. At present, she seemed fine, no visible cuts or bruises to see.

The little bird shook her head and started to sway back and forth on her feet, the way he had come to learn that meant she wanted to say something but did not know how. "Just out with it, girl. A man needs his beauty sleep." He smirked at the tired jape and set a hand on her shoulder to stop her rocking.

"Sandor..." the girl began, and then bit her lip to stop a giggle. Though he was exhausted and by all right should be irritated with the disturbance, Sandor could not help but smile when the child said his name. She was the only one that called him by it. Most others preferred 'my lord,' though he was not one, or 'Sir,' though he was not that either. If they were feeling particularly nasty or foolish, men would address him Hound. It was an ongoing joke among the people at court that Sandor was the Princess's dog, following at her heels whichever way she went, and so they referred to him as such - the smart ones did it behind his back at least.

He waited patiently for his little bird to summon up her nerve. Finally she looked up from the ground and asked with hushed excitement, "Will you come to the kitchens with me?"

Before Sandor could press for an explanation, she continued, "Jon said that he saw the cooks making lemon cakes for tomorrow and whenever we have lemon cakes father only lets me have one, and I...I just wanted..."

The princess's sworn shield chuckled deeply and he ruffled her crimson hair, earning her swatting hands. "Are you asking me to steal for you, little bird? How very..._unladylike._"

That caused a pout, and Sansa crossed her arms in displeasure. "I am not asking you to steal _for _me, I'm asking you to steal _with_ me."

Sandor laughed heartily at that, but swallowed it when she _shhhhed _him. "This is not like you, Princess. What would the Queen say?" He paused a moment to let uncertainty skirt across her face before saying, "But I am not the Queen, am I?"

The little bird flashed a grin and squealed, grabbing his large hand with her tiny one and tugged him to the door. Sandor rubbed his eyes once more, pulled on a tunic, tied his breeches tighter, and allowed himself to be dragged along by the best part of his life.

The pair of them wandered through the castle, ducking behind corners at imagined noises and taking care to muffle their footsteps. She hid behind him when they came across a Stark guard on patrol, thinking herself very clever, though Ser Rodrik merely grinned and nodded as they went by.

She made an effort to avoid all flickering torches and even avoided stepping in the squares of moonlight on the stone floor from the window. Sandor wondered idly if lemon cakes could be a good incentive to get her to skip her sewing lessons, and then decided to try to have some of the treats with him at all times. After all, if the sweet desserts could manipulate the proper princess into sneaking out after curfew, well, what couldn't they do?

When at last they reached the kitchens, blessedly empty, Sansa giggled and ran around the room, searching for her prize. When at last her eyes rested on the perfectly cut rectangles of lemony perfection atop the long wooden table, the princess waggled her hands out dramatically, as if unveiling a coveted jewel. "The lemon cakes," she whispered with awe, and stretched up on her toes to grab one.

Sandor aided her by grabbing the entire tray of sweets and setting them on the ground, where she promptly plopped down and sat cross-legged to enjoy her feast. Taking one for himself, the Royal Guard settled contently into a chair by the dying embers of the fire. _This little rebellion is the most exciting thing that's happened all week. And besides_, he thought while biting into Sansa's favorite treat, _I would've never gotten any of the cakes at the feast. _

The little bird came to sit by his feet, dragging the tray with her towards the fire. "How many do you think I can eat without them noticing?" She asked between mouthfuls. Sandor grinned at the girl and made sure to remember the moment: the dainty princess, hair and face lit up by the muted red light of the fireplace, sugar glazed over her chin and her hands full of yellow cake, staring up at her scarred Hound with a twinkle to her eyes.

"I think," Sandor began seriously, scooping up another tart from the overflowing platter, "that we should eat all of them. Come tomorrow, it will be a big mystery. Bards will write songs of the grand theft that took place tonight - the lemon cake heist. How do you like that?"

The princess gasped and her eyes widened. "All of them, Sandor? Won't father be very cross?"

"How will he know it was you? We were very secretive, if you recall."

She considered that and nodded slowly. "That's true. We were probably the sneakiest pair in the entire castle."

He chuckled and nodded back at her, amused. Sansa seemed to think the proposition over before shaking her head. "But then no one else would get any. And that would make everyone else sad."

_Always so considerate. _Sandor snorted; had it been up to him as a child, he would've taken the whole tray and whatever else was saved for tomorrow as well. Sansa's heart was far too gentle to be selfish.

"I think maybe just," she yawned and wiped her mouth on her arm. "Maybe just two more."

"Aye little bird, two more."

The princess was halfway through her final lemon cake when she yawned once more and curled up on the floor next to the platter. "Sandor?" She questioned sleepily.

"What, Princess?"

"Do you ever have scary dreams?" Sandor thought of the fire that often plagued his dreams, tearing through his skin over and over. He thought of Gregor's laughter and his own weakness. He thought of the dream he had sometimes where he was too late to protect Sansa, and the fire got her as well. Those were the worst.

But little girls need not hear such things, so he merely answered, "Sometimes, yes."

Sansa closed her eyes on the ground, scrunching herself into a ball. "I have a dream sometimes that a lion is coming to eat me."

"There aren't any lions around here, foolish girl."

She continued as if she hadn't heard him. "It follows me around the castle, no matter where I run. Even Lady cannot stop him. But then you come and save me."

Rolling his eyes at her ridiculous views of him, Sandor asked, "Am I your knight in shining armor then?" Though he mocked her each time she said something of the sort, one time so harshly it drove her to tears, Sandor felt a secret happiness at her distorted ideas of _true knights, _and that he was one of them.

"You're always the hero, Sandor." She murmured, shoulders relaxed and close to sleep.

"Maybe I'm the villain. Maybe the lion is the good one all along, ever think of that?"

Her reply was but a whisper, so close to slumber that she was. "Villains don't love you. Or give you lemon cakes."

Sandor watched her for a long time after that, her breaths evening out and her mouth falling open slightly in sleep. _How a brute like me ended up in charge of a girl as kind as the Maiden herself, I will never know. _Eventually, he placed the platter of remaining lemon cakes back on the table, and then returned for his princess, scooping her up into his arms to carry her back to her room. If the girl was so damned set on having him be her hero, he would oblige.

..

The next morning Princess Sansa awoke warm in her featherbed to the sight of a single lemon cake on her bedside table. Under it was a note, written in big capital words because he knew she was struggling to learn her letters. Sansa giggled as she read: _I won't tell a soul about the Lemon Cake Heist. _

_.._

_.._

So I wrote another one. I'm not sure if I'll continue it, and if I do, don't expect frequent updates! But wow these are just too fluffy to handle haha.

I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing! Please feel more than welcome to leave your thoughts :)


	3. Sweetest Sound

It was just two weeks after Sansa's tenth nameday that Robert Baratheon and the Lannisters paid a visit to the royal family. They rode in with a procession that stretched miles, all red banners and golden heads. Drunken Lord Robert, Sandor could handle. He was loud, often crude, but unfailing in his loyalty to King Eddard. Upon arrival, the fat lord hunched over and pinched Sansa's cheeks, and whispered something in her ear that made her giggle. Sandor was used to drunken fools; it was the rest of the visitors that made him wary.

Sandor could not yet decided who was worse: the beautiful Cersei, or her vile spawn. Each had their own terrible qualities to be sure, yet he still was not sure which was decidedly worse.

Cersei Lannister was a snake in waiting, it seemed to the sworn shield. Underneath those green doe-eyes and golden mane, Sandor suspected an endless collection of secrets. Despite marrying the eldest Baratheon, she remained Lady of Casterly Rock, and convinced her husband to leave Storm's End for Stannis. It was _too dreary _for her taste, as it would seem. She always had ladies-in-waiting fluttering about her and begging for her favor. The way she looked at her twin was far from average as well, and he suspected something there was amiss. After all, when married to a fat, rude lord, one can't be shocked when the lady finds affection elsewhere. It's usually just not her brother.

Yet however bad her company was, her son's was even worse, mainly because he hung around Sansa far too often. He was a whiny thing, one year older than his little bird and always boasting of feats Sandor knew he had not accomplished, or new shiny toys his mother bestowed on him. Wherever Sansa went, so too did the boy, courting her around the garden for walks, or accompanying her to the stables for a ride out in the yard.

To Sandor's amusement, the little Tommen Lannister tried to do the same with eight year old Arya, but she was clearly not interested, as seen when she shoved him into the pool in the Godswood. He wished Sansa would do the same to the eldest Lannister.

But Sansa looked at the boy like he was a hero from her blasted stories. She clung to every kind word he offered her and grinned at him like a love-struck fool. Her Tully blue eyes would drift off during her lessons, and Sandor knew she was dreaming of the golden little lordling. Sandor was not a pious man, but during those moments of watching his little bird chase after the arrogant boy, the sworn shield prayed for any reason at all to whack the kid upside the head, for the Lannisters to leave, and mostly for Sansa to stop loving Joffrey so.

About a fortnight after their arrival, the princess had been called on by her father. Sandor stood on guard outside the solar, not able to hear much except muffled sounds of excitement from his little bird. After a quarter of an hour, the red-haired princess returned, practically bouncing with excitement.

As usual, she took her sworn shield's hand to lead him wherever she was off to next. That always made Sandor smile. It was typical for most guards to walk a few paces behind as a sign of respect, but Sansa never seemed to grasp that concept. So, hand-in-hand, the princess told him excitedly of what had transpired between herself and King Eddard.

The little bird was to be betrothed to Joffrey Baratheon, and she could not have been happier.

That night Sandor drank far more than he should have. He knew he would have a severe hangover the next day, heightening his misery tomorrow, but right then he couldn't care less. They were giving his precious bird to the most undeserving bloody prick of a boy Sandor had ever met. _Fools, all of them, to think that is what she is worth. _In Sandor's opinion, Joffrey could live a hundred lives and still never deserve the lovely princess. She was too sweet, too kind, too gentle for the likes of him.

Sandor swirled his wine as he sat in the musty tavern, the laughs of server girls and sailors muted by his overbearing thoughts. No matter how much he drank, all he could see was Sansa's smile, only it wasn't directed at himself, but at the shining, golden lordling. _Give me one reason, _Sandor thought, _one reason and I'll kill that boy. _He would do so gladly.

In the depths of his mind, the sworn shield realized he was being foolish. Princess Sansa had to grow older and get married at some point, and then she would no longer have need of her Hound. He knew all of this, and it was ridiculous to be responding in the way he was. What had he hoped to have happened? _Anyone but Joffrey Baratheon, _he argued with himself. _If it were someone with more honor, better character, I wouldn't be acting this way. _That seemed a reasonable enough explanation.

He drank on.

A few days later, Sandor followed behind as Princess Sansa walked with her soon-to-be-announced fiancée. She held his arm lightly, her hair pinned up in the way Lady Cersei wore it, and a red dress trimmed with gold fell to her ankles. Sandor tried his best to hide his displeasure; it was not hard as the little bird only had eyes for her _knight. _

They strolled through the garden, which was blooming it's late summer flowers - alive with blues and purples. The fountain could be heard gurgling in the distance, and birds pecked at the seed ladies tossed. Try as he might not to, Sandor was drawn into listening to the young couple's conversation.

"You will love Casterly Rock, my princess." The stupid boy affirmed with a smile that he must have thought was charming, though to Sandor he looked constipated. "The flowers will be abloom, and the sunsets match your hair."

Sansa blushed as Sandor knew she would and grinned. "I would be honored to see your home, Joffrey. I am most looking forward to it."

"Of course you are," he replied confidently. "Any girl would be."

"Do you spar with Tommen?" The little bird inquired. "My brothers mock-fight all the time, so I wondered if you do the same. I do love to watch such activity."

The lordling laughed and seemed to puff up his chest even more as he replied haughtily, "My brother is no proper opponent for me. I spar with the men in the guard, perhaps Prince Robb should consider doing the same."

At that, Sandor could not help but rasp out a laugh. The image of the lanky Baratheon boy against his disciplined prince was certainly an amusing thought. _Perhaps I should suggest that to Prince Robb later, it would do for Joffrey to learn some humility. _Hearing his mirth, the couple turned around - Sansa with curious eyes and Joff with cruel ones.

"Think something's funny, dog?" The golden boy asked with contempt and then turned to Sansa. "My princess, won't you send your Hound away? I can protect you just fine. Besides, his face displeases me. The ugly mutt is ruining a perfectly beautiful morning."

Sandor clenched his jaw in anger as the arrogant boy turned to resume their walk, assuming that Princess Sansa would follow. The sworn shield was prepared to deny Sansa's request for him to leave, after all it was his _charge_ and he could not just leave her unprotected.

But the little bird did not ask him to leave her. Instead she remained rooted in place, mouth agape at her partner. Joffrey had stopped after a few paces, seemingly confused at why the girl was no longer on his arm. "Well aren't you coming?" He asked impatiently.

"What did you say about Sandor?" The princess hissed. It was a voice the sworn shield had never heard from her; it was King Eddard's voice.

"What?" The boy questioned rudely.

Her fists were tight by her sides and her mouth was twisted with displeasure. "Repeat it to me. What you said."

Obviously a little uneasy now, Joffrey glanced between the princess and Sandor before saying, "I asked if you would send your Hound away." When Sansa said nothing, he continued, this time a bit more confidently. "I _said _that his _ugly face _displeases me."

Sansa Stark had never been keen with words. She was not one of a quick wit in conversation, nor a mocking tongue. Yet Sansa Stark had learned one thing from growing up with all brothers and a sister who was as wild as a wolf. It was on that day that Sandor realized she was just as fierce as her siblings.

With an impressive windup and a red face scrunched in anger, Princess Sansa Stark hurled her fist at the golden boy of Lannister. His nose made a satisfying crunch sound upon impact - the sweetest sound Sandor had ever heard.

While the boy cried and Sansa stared at what she had done in shock, Sandor Clegane laughed longer and louder than he had ever had in his entire life.

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Okay imagining this scene made me really happy. So I wrote it. It seems I can't stop writing these.

Please leave your thoughts! I hope I made you laugh! :)


	4. Pack Mentality

Once King Eddard had discovered that the cause of Sansa's outburst was her sworn shield, Sandor was called in to join the pair in the King's solar.

The little bird sat sheepishly in front of her father's desk, kicking her feet lightly and sniffling. With great apprehension, Sandor took the ebony chair offered, next to her, and faced King Eddard, who graced him with a stern and somber expression. The Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms looked to be at his wit's end. No doubt his perfect daughter wailing the Lannister boy in the face had just been the icing on the cake for a terrible week. His beard was shot through with bits of gray, but he still maintained the overbearing presence of a man to be respected.

"Clegane."

"Your Grace," Sandor responded respectfully, bowing his head. He felt the little bird's eyes on him, so he snuck a glance. She blushed and frowned, turning her gaze back to her hands.

The King sighed. "Tell me again what happened. Sansa has been less than forthcoming with this little tale, and Lady Cersei seems ready to burn this city to the ground in vengeance."

Sandor cleared his throat awkwardly, not quite sure where to begin. The manners required to speak to queens and kings had never been his strong point, and the princess was used to his rough ways, so he had not guarded his tongue in a long time. "They were taking a stroll in the gardens, and I was trailing behind. The Baratheon boy said something offensive to Princess Sansa and then she..." he tried not to smile at the warm memory of the girl's fist colliding with the brat's nose. "She struck him, Your Grace."

King Eddard looked skeptical. "Offensive, you say. Yes, she said the same. What I am curious about, is what this offensive statement was. It would have to be quite the insult for her to act so much like Arya." He glared at Sansa then, but she would not look up, nervously smoothing her red gown over and over again. "And my daughter will not reveal to me what was said. Perhaps you could enlighten me, Clegane."

Now the sworn shield was under the full weight of the gray-eyed stare and wished he could be anywhere but in the spacious solar. For the first time in his life, he was utterly conflicted on whether to _lie. _Telling the truth had never been hard for Sandor - he found that brute honesty got things moving quicker. Yet how would the King react if he knew the little bird was protecting him, instead of the other way around like it should be?

_Bugger me, I'm a shit liar. _"The boy...ah...the boy insulted...well the boy insulted me."

Next to him, Princess Sansa exhaled a large breath, shoulders slumping in defeat, resigned to her fate.

"Insulted _you_?" King Eddard questioned, leaning forward now in interest.

"Yes, Your Grace," Sandor confirmed. _Just end the interrogation there, please._

He drummed his fingers on the table. "Joffrey insulted you, and then my daughter punched him. That's what you're telling me."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"My daughter punched her betrothed in the nose because Joff was rude to _you_, Sandor Clegane, her sworn shield." The King's face was heavy with bewilderment.

Once again, Sandor winced and answered, "Yes, Your Grace."

"I do not want to marry Joffrey!" Sansa cried then, eyes wide and begging, glancing between her father and her sworn shield. "He's _mean._" Sandor almost laughed at that, recalling how just that morning she swore that Joff was the love of her life. _How fickle the affections of a child are._

"Well sweetling," her father sighed, "Lady Cersei has already ended the engagement, due to her son's injury. Apparently she feels as though you are _abusive._" The King laughed incredulously at that, throwing his hands in the air in an unusual display of frustration. "So it seems you will get your wish."

Though her face was still red from embarrassment, the little bird couldn't help a small smile at her father's words. She peaked at her guard from under red lashes and Sandor couldn't help but grin at the silly little bird turned little wolf. She had certainly taken control of her future in the gardens, and Sandor was undeniably proud.

"Which of course leaves the crown and the second most powerful house in Westeros in a tense position, with tense being an understatement." Stark pinched the bridge of his nose and Sandor realized the seriousness of the situation. He tried to care about the delicate balance of politics, he really did, but all Sandor could see was the red-haired wolf turning her claws on the arrogant lion.

And that memory would be enough to see him happy for the rest of his days, he was convinced.

"But that is none of your concern. Sansa, go. Your mother wishes to see you. Together you will apologize to Joffrey."

The girl pouted but stood to follow his instructions. Without a thought, Sandor stood as well and turned to follow her, but was halted with a stern, "Not you, Clegane. I'd like a word."

Princess Sansa looked concerned, but Sandor sent her on with a nod. She left the room with a frown and the sworn shield sat back down to face the girl's father.

...

...

...

He found the little bird some time later, bare feet dipped into the cool pool of the Godswood, flopped on the grass, red hair spread out underneath her like a flame. One of her handmaidens was sewing on a bench nearby, but other than her the secluded wood was empty. The trees shadowed the small clearing of grass, and caused the sun to cast leaf shadows on the blue water. The princess looked as though she was born out of the wood - her hair matching the color of the leaves so truly.

Taking a seat on the ground next to Sansa, his armor clanking, Sandor asked, "How is the hand, little bird?"

She opened her eyes at his inquiry and sat up. He noticed the direwolf then, as it stalked out from the shadows of the trees to keep watch. "It hurts a bit." Sansa replied, and held out her fist for his inspection. He saw the beginning discoloration of a bruise.

"It's going to bruise, girl. You really gave that bastard a hard hit huh?"

_"Sandor," _she scolded. "You should not use that word." Yet the corners of her mouth upturned slightly at his praise and ran her fingertips over the darkening skin of her knuckles. "I did not mean to hit him. I mean, I did not think about it before I did it." She looked up at him then, a hint of shame coloring her cheeks. "I was just angry."

Sandor knew a lot about acting out of anger, so he was in no place to reprimand the princess. Though he had never had someone act out of anger to protect him, and he still wasn't sure how to feel about that.

"Have you told your sister what you did?" The sworn shield asked.

Princess Sansa nodded meekly. "Mother told Robb, and Robb told Arya. She laughed and then asked if _she _could hit him too. That made Mother very cross, and she said _absolutely not!"_

"And did you apologize?"

"Yes," she grumbled. "Joffrey refused to see me, so I spoke to Lady Cersei instead. She said I was a rude, spoiled young lady, and other mean things."

"Lady Cersei fucks her own brother, what the hell would she know about courtesy?" The little girl looked so shocked, Sandor could not help but chuckle. Deciding not to explain any further for fear of ruining her innocence, he continued. "Well, you know I won't give you a speech about acting with grace, or why it's wrong to break your beloved's nose -"

"I do _not _love him!" Her brow furrowed in discontent and she scrunched up her mouth.

Sandor continued, undeterred. "But Sansa, it is my duty to shield you, not the other way around. It is...not _proper,_" he echoed the words of King Eddard that had been spoken to him. "You must not do that again. No matter what...is said of me." He paused, then added: "Though do not think that I didn't enjoy watching the boy sob for his mother."

"But Sandor," she whined, grabbing his large hands with her small ones. "It's not fair if you watch out for me, and nobody watches out for you!"

He sat straighter then, looking down on the small girl, and growled. "Does it look like I need protecting to you?"

She crossed her arms over her chest in a huff. "Lady is stronger than me too, but I still protect her! I make sure she doesn't have to sleep in the cold. That's the same thing. We're a pack, Sandor." The direwolf's ears perked up at the mention of her name and she slunk over to her mistress, allowing Sansa to run her hands through her thick, gray fur.

"So you will save me from sleeping outside then, little bird?" He teased.

Though Sandor had joked in an effort to keep the conversation light, Sansa's response reiterated everything King Eddard had drilled into him: their relationship had become too close for their class differences. With great blue eyes, little Sansa implored, "I protect you from people who don't know you like I do. If they knew you, they would love you too, I know it."

The sworn shield knew he should not encourage these odd declarations of love, nor allow her to act in such a way again. He should listen to his king, the one that told him his relationship with Princess Sansa needed to drift back into that of a guard and his charge, rather than a little girl with a devoted Hound at her heels. But Sansa's heart was too gentle to break.

So instead, he merely muttered his consent. "Whatever you say, foolish girl."

..

..

Wow, thank all of you so much for all of the kind words and encouragements! They are all so sweet, and I'm glad that people have found a few smiles here :)

So here's another one. Lord knows when I'll be able to stop writing these haha. Reviews are most certainly welcomed!


	5. Songbird

The festival was three days going, and the eleven year-old princess had not tired of it in the slightest.

Sandor was tugged along each day by the giggling girl to the streets of King's Landing to enjoy the Festival of the Seven. For seven days each year, King's Landing became a hub for travelers from the free cities, intent on selling and bartering their goods away. For seven nights, hundreds of lights lit up the city and the darkness was consumed by music and dance. The pounding of feet and the singing in a hundred different languages filled the air with sweet sounds.

In the free cities the festival was in celebration of the Lord of Light, but as most of the smallfolk held to the new gods, in the capital the party was for the Seven. Which gods were in question did not matter to Sandor - the joy-filled Princess was the only deity he aspired to please.

Once again, he followed the girl closely as she darted from vendor to vendor, an awe-filled expression alight on her features. Wherever she went, the masses parted for her, like a stream splitting for a rock. The foreigners and Westerosi alike smiled and pointed as she went by, offering praises and wishes for her health, and the health of her father. Princess Sansa responded with glee at their adoration and often Sandor had to drag her away lest she give away the own gown on her back to needy children.

Each seller had something new to give her: beautiful lace gowns from Myr, perfumes from Lys, a delicate gold chain from Braavos. Yes, Sansa was well on her way to charming the entirety of the free cities out of their goods, and they gave it willingly, only hoping to win her favor. By the third day she had already acquired a pile of gifts that were stacked in the corner of her bedchamber.

"Look, Sandor!" His little bird ran up to him and yanked on his hand, pulling him over to an elaborate red tent. She slipped inside, and he ducked to follow. The inside was lit by dozens of candles and the smell of incense was so strong Sandor's eyes began to sting. But the focus of the princess's attention was on the many gilded cages hung around the room.

Inside each were brightly colored birds, red, blue, pink, yellow, all beautifully feathered. They chirped at Sansa and the woman who minded them smiled at the princess's attention.

Sandor chuckled. "A little bird for a little bird, is that the way of it?"

_"Little bird," _the red one parroted. _"Little bird."_

Finding this absurdly funny, Princess Sansa giggled and covered her mouth with her hands in delight. The candles flickered off of her shiny crimson hair which was tied back with a head scarf from Pentos that she had received the night before.

The tent owner smiled, her teeth alarmingly white against her black skin. "My Princess Sansa, you are as beautiful as the sunset; the tales simply do not do you justice." The dark woman who owned the birds had no qualms complimenting Sansa incessantly, and it was not surprising to Sandor in the slightest when she insisted on the darling princess picking her choice of the flock.

So the pair returned to music-filled streets with a singing blue bird settled on the girl's shoulder.

"I like the way she said my name," the little bird commented as she fed her new pet corn from an open palm. "Her accent made it pretty, like the singers in the square. I think you should say it like that woman did."

The sworn shield rasped a laugh at that, keeping close to the princess as the crowds grew denser. "How did she say it then?"

"She said it like _Son-_sa. You say it like Sansa, with the 'san' rhyming with man."

"Sansa."

"_Son-sa!"_

"Sansa."

She stuck out her lip. _"Sonsa," _she repeated. "The 'son' rhymes with bone. Say it again."

Stubbornly, and wishing to irritate her, Sandor paused and then said, "Sansa."

"Oh!" The girl threw her hands up in the air in exasperation, startling the bird which chirped and fluttered its wings in surprise.

"No need to get worked up now," Sandor teased with a smirk. "I like the way I say your name. Besides, I'm not going to pretend I'm from the Summer Islands just to please your ears, girl."

_"Girl!" _The bird squawked.

The girl opened her mouth to reprimand him further, but he saw her blue eyes widen in awe and turned to follow her gaze. In the main square of King's Landing, there were innumerable dancers, twirling and leaping to the rhythmic pounding of steel drums and the trilling of horns. Sandor was sure that this was a scene straight out of the fantasies that played over and over in the girls mind, but to him it only served to make him more wary: just a larger crowd to shield the unsuspecting princess from.

Immediately, she tried to tug him toward the flurry of excitement. "Dance with me!" She implored.

His answer was firm. "No." Not only did he not want the princess disappearing into the drunken mass, Sandor was about as skilled at dancing as he was at singing, which is to say he was terrible. He knew the little bird would not mind his lack of talent, but frankly he could do without the extra stares. Most everyone in the keep was used to his face by now, and at least had the decency not to stare. Yet it seemed the foreigners all wanted a glance of the Hound's terrifying appearance - he felt the heavy glares every moment he spent in the festival.

"Please, Sandor!" She begged, head tipped up and eyes wide.

_"Please!" _The blue bird mocked, _"Please!"_

When he frowned and shook his head, she asked, "You would not leave me to dance by myself would you?"

"No dancing." Sandor said. "Too many rats about looking to grab you."

The little bird regarded him for a moment and then glanced back at the spinning dancers. She wrung her hands and seemed to be debating with herself.

He saw what she was planning to do, but he was too late. Before he could reach out to snatch her close, Princess Sansa had turned and fled into the crowd, no doubt with the intention to find a proper dancing partner. With a roar of her name, Sandor dove into the masses after her.

_She has to be right around here, _he told himself as panic began to rise. _She can't have gotten far, her legs are as big as my forearms for Gods sake._

Yet there was not a flash of red hair to be seen. The smallfolk swarmed around him, giggling with mirk and drink. Bodies were swirling with the beat of the song, lost in their own rhythm. For any that got in his way, Sandor knocked them unceremoniously to the ground, eyes scanning everywhere for his little bird. Shouts of displeasure rose around him at his intrusion but he paid them no mind.

Minutes passed with no result. He was hesitant to call her name, if some bastard heard that the princess was unattended the consequences could be deadly. So he pushed through the crowd, ignoring the dread manifesting in his gut. Sandor tried not to picture what could've happened to her, tried not to see greedy hands harming his little bird, tried to smother the blatant _fear _he felt.

_I'll wring her pretty neck for this stunt. I swear I'll kill her if she's not dead already._

Finally, he saw a sign of guidance. The blue songbird was circling above the crowd not far off.

Sandor jostled his way toward the point the bird was circling until blessedly he caught sight of her flaming head.

Princess Sansa and the young boy she had claimed as her partner had attracted their own admirers, a loose circle of men and women around them, clapping as the pair danced to a lively tune.

For a moment, Sandor lost his rage and panic. Princess Sansa was shoeless, and had her plum-colored skirts pulled up in one hand, allowing her legs the mobility necessary for the foreign dance. Her hair glimmered crimson and her white skin seemed to glow in comparison to the black boy she danced with. The crowds around her seemed dirty and utterly _less _than what she was. The boy looked at her like she was a dream and he had the honor of living in it for a brief moment. Sansa's face was alight with joy, and Sandor was struck with just how _beautiful _the young princess was.

It was a short-lived moment.

With a growl the sworn shied stepped forward into the circle and yanked the Summer Islander away from his princess, not caring in the slightest when he cried out from the ground. Ignoring his princess's objections, Sandor slung the girl, whose feet were blackened from the dirt, over his shoulder and back towards the Red Keep.

On his other shoulder, the blue songbird made its perch. So it was with two little birds on either shoulder that Sandor returned to the castle.

Princess Sansa was still moping when he set her down in front of her own chamber door. _Bloody lucky I didn't tell her kingly father about her foolish stunt. _

They stared at each other for a long while, the hallway lit only by the dying torches. The blue bird was back on Sansa's shoulder and pecked lightly at her collar, but the princess paid it no mind.

Finally, Sandor broke the tense stare down. "You will never do that again. You will not run off without me, _ever. _Do you understand? Did you even think of what could have happened to you? Did it ever cross your _fucking innocent mind _what those men would do to you if they found you wandering around alone?"

Stubbornly the little bird stuck out her lip and shifted her attention to the floor, not meeting his eyes.

"Look at me, damn it Sansa!" He was yelling now, but he found he could not help himself. The images of what could have happened were replaying in his mind, each possible situation worse than the last. "Were you even _thinking?"_

She looked up then, a single tear rolling down her cheek which she wiped away with her sleeve. A terrible guilt came over Sandor then, but he was determined to make her see the truth.

"The world isn't a big bloody song little bird, and you need to realize it."

She nodded then and peaked at him shyly. "Sorry, Sandor. I promise I won't do it again."

He sighed heavily, wanting to pursue the subject, to make her _see, _but he was willing to let her go to sleep. "Fine. Get some sleep..._Sonsa."_

She grinned at his poorly attempted accent and then shook her head. "I've changed my mind. I like the way you say it the best."

The door shut softly and Sandor retreated to his own room, thoughts filled with songbirds.

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Ah, another one done. I think I'm going to write three more...? Hopefully!

Thank you all tremendously for the kind words, I'm so glad so many people find this cute! :)


	6. A Farewell to Summer

"Go away!" The thirteen year old princess spat at him. "Just leave already, like you want to!"

Sandor Clegane had spent the better part of an hour searching for Princess Sansa, and her sobs finally gave her away. Well, the sobs and her pet wolf. Lady sat at the base of a tree, circling it occasionally, as if there was some prey above. What Sandor discovered was not an animal of prey, but rather the wolf's mistress. The little bird was high in a tree in the godswood, nestled into its branches, its red leaves mirroring her hair. The sworn shield never would have spotted her if not for the sound of her sniffles, disturbing the otherwise tranquil wood.

"Little bird, you're going to hurt yourself!" He called back, watching her movements warily, trying to foresee where she would land if she fell. "Stop being so foolish, and come down already!"

"What do _you_ care?" She wailed dramatically. "You're so glad to be rid of me, I bet you'll laugh when I fall from this tree to my end."

"Sansa please," Sandor called, rubbing his face as he craned his neck to see up the tree. His training in the yard had certainly not prepared him to deal with the drawn out emotions of a teenage girl. "You know as well as I do that I did not choose this path. King Eddard needs to call his banners, and I need to do my part. When the master calls, the dog obeys, girl."

The princess pressed her face against the trunk and her reply was quieter than her previous shout. "You swore to protect me until I married, you are breaking your vows, Sandor Clegane!"

"His Grace relieved me of them. I am not deserting," he answered calmly, though the depression of their impending parting was weighing heavily on Sandor as well. In one weeks time the Hound would be leaving his young mistress and riding with the King's men to the Westerlands in hopes of crushing a Lannister-Tyrell Rebellion. Once, Sandor would have found great pleasure in being thrust onto the field of battle, the direwolf sigil flying above his head.

Now though, the sworn shield was no longer sure if the glory of battle would be anything like the glory of her company. Or if the honor of victory was anything even near the honor of being her favorite companion. Or if the men he would serve with would have the nerve to look him in the face as she did. Sandor was uncertain.

Princess Sansa was silent for a few moments, and the only music to be heard in the godswood was the gurgling of the pool, the dancing of the leaves in the wind and the guilt pounding in Sandor's chest. Then she asked, "How could you? How could you say yes?"

"I did not have a-"

"You did!" She shrieked, and wobbled on her tree limb. Sandor moved to grab her if she fell, but Sansa regained her balance and jabbed a finger at him, down below her. "You could have refused! You are happy for the chance to leave, I can tell."

"You know that is not the truth," he said in return.

In response, she shifted so that the leaves hid her face, though he could still hear her sniffling.

He continued trying to coax her from the tree. "Your wolf will still be here to look after you. You don't need a dog when you have a direwolf, Princess. Besides, I'm sure King Eddard will have a new guard for you." The thought of someone else in his place left a sickening feeling in Sandor's stomach. He did not like the notion of some other man receiving the little bird's confidence and kind words. But it was true enough that he was leaving, and he supposed he had to make peace with the fact that soon she would have a new hound to follow her heels.

"I do not want anyone else! Are you daft as well as a traitor?"

"The little bird is bold when I cannot reach her," he growled, glaring at the grief-stricken girl. "You wouldn't be calling me names if you were down here, where I could set you right!"

"Oh bother! Your threats are as useless as your promises," she hissed. To prove her point, Sansa eased her way down from the branches, wincing slightly as the twigs caught in her hair, but overall avoiding injury. Sandor watched her descent slowly, and met her eyes when she stood in front of him. True to her word, Sandor did not grab her in anger once she was in reach.

She had grown, this freshly flowered woman-child that stood in front of him. Princess Sansa did not have to crane her neck so far to look up at him now; instead of being a height with his hip, she was now at his chest, and was sure to grow further. The new little lordlings fluttering about her were testament enough to her growth, as they now sought her hand rather than just a giggly kiss.

But she was not a woman, not to Sandor. Not when her long hair was rustled and knotted from the tree and dirt was smeared on her white cheekbone and she still stuck her lip out like she had when she was six years old. No, to Sandor she was still his little bird. _And I thought I could keep her for a few years more...thought I could see her off at her wedding, even though I would want to wring the groom's neck the whole time._

Fate had not been so kind to allow him that.

Slowly, Sansa poked a finger into his chest and looked at him with as much steel in her eyes as a thirteen year old could muster. "You won't hurt me, Sandor Clegane, so don't bother with idle threats."

"Then don't call me what I'm not. Leaving your side _by order_, yes. A traitor to you...never."

Then she was crying again, and threw herself into his arms. After a moment of surprise, Sandor returned her embrace gently, tucking her head against his chest.

"It's not _fair_," she whined. "Arya gets to keep Syrio."

"Life isn't fair, girl."

"I don't want you to go."

Her words sent a spike of pain into his torso, and he closed his eyes against the onset of regret that came with it. _The only person that has ever loved you...and you're leaving her. Stupid fucking dog. _It wasn't as though he had a choice though, at least that's what he told himself to ease the guilt he felt at her tears.

"I know, little bird." Releasing her, he did the only comforting thing he could think to do. Sandor removed the Stark-gray cloak from his own shoulders and draped it around hers instead. He wasn't sure what use she would find from the fabric, but at least he could give her something. "Here. You can keep it."

Sansa clutched the cloak tight around her slender shoulders. "Thank you. You'll come back, won't you?"

Truly, Sandor did not know if he would. He wasn't betting on dying, but by the time the rebellion was settled she would most likely be married and toted away to one of the great Houses across Westeros. Would he seek her there? It would not at all be proper. No, given thought, he probably would never see his precious bird again. That caused an ache all over, of which Sandor had not been anticipating. An ache and a fierce worry to match it. Who could possibly look after her properly when he was not there? She was too sweet, too trusting to be on her own. Damn the Lannisters. They were the reason he was being sent away.

But her deep blue eyes were too pleading to disappoint. "Aye, little bird. I'll come back, don't you worry."

She nodded then, and tried to smile though it was a bit shaky. "Then...I will see you when you return, non-Ser. I love you, you know."

Sandor exhaled heavily and pressed a hard kiss to her forehead. "I'll see you again, Sansa Stark."

When the day came for the men to leave King's Landing, they were seen off with cheers and flowers thrown into the street. The day was a cool autumn breeze, and Sandor knew winter was not far off for the realm. For him, as he looked back to the Keep and saw the small red haired princess waving from the balcony, winter had already come.

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Okay, so two more after this! The next one is going to be much longer I think!

Thank you once again for all the king comments! :)


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